I am Become
by Durandall
Summary: This is a surreal crossover with Ruroni Kenshin. Don't read it if you don't feel like thinking.
1. Part One

I am Become...  
  
Disclaimer: As always the paints are the property of  
Takahashi Rumiko, Viz video, and this time, also Nobuhiro Watsuki,  
who owns Ruroni Kenshin. The easel is mine, but that is all.  
  
  
Dreams are odd things.  
  
Deflect, reverse swing. A quiet grunt, and the sickeningly  
sweet sound of flesh parting, blood spattering on the ground and  
staining it.  
  
They can take us to the past.  
  
Another deflection, faster this time, and the sharp ringing  
noise of steel-upon-steel sounds. One sword finds its way beneath  
the other's guard, and there is another grunt and blood spatter.  
  
And sometimes, the future.  
  
More attacks, these clumsy and uncoordinated. Easily inside  
their guard, then a thrust. A slash. Another simple strike. Killing  
blows, each of them, and these attackers join their fallen comrades.  
Louder this time. Not trained warriors, anymore. Only those new to  
battle actually scream. Or the fearful. The weak. Those who have no  
place in battle.  
  
But most often, a dream is just that.  
  
***  
  
[Wanderer. The past.]  
  
A chirp. A bird, of some kind. Possibly a sparrow, though it  
could have been something else.  
  
He sat up slowly, running a hand through his bedraggled red  
hair and thinking. How much longer could he stay? Stave off what he  
thought was inevitable? The dreams came with more and more  
intensity, and it was constantly getting harder to hold off the  
effects...  
  
But what could he do? He lowered his hand, holding it before  
his face and studying it as it trembled. Was there perhaps, an  
inevitability to his trade? Was it that once he had become an  
assassin, something of the essence of assassin became him, as well?  
  
He had thought it all behind him, and spent years apart from  
his one-time trade...  
  
For naught.  
  
The trembling of his hand increased, almost a spasm, this  
time. He knew what would stop it easily enough. The sword. His hand  
longed to hold it... not the sword he used, the reversed blade  
totally inappropriate for killing...  
  
A real sword again. It's keen edge tearing through flesh,  
muscle, and bone with equal fervor, parting the living and  
transforming years of building, growth, teaching... taking whole  
decades of life and undoing them in a hasty motion.  
  
There was, he knew, a sublime... depth? No... but there was  
a perfection of unity, of morbid fascination and knowledge that he  
_was_ power, he _was_ the reaper and he had the ultimate ability to  
undo what had taken an entire life to accomplish... and rend it into  
nothing.  
  
And a part of him reveled in it, glorying in the power that  
he knew he was a part of him, a part of his life...  
  
But so much of him, oh so much of him loathed it, hating to  
the very core of his being what he had become, and how little he  
could be because of what he had been.  
  
Burying his face in his hands, he weighed his decisions.  
  
***  
  
[Watched. The present.]  
  
He was awake again. He was a killer. A cold-blooded killer,  
and he knew it. Knew what he was, and would be again, if he weren't  
careful.  
  
But the sweet, glorious rush of power, the cold  
dispassionate strength, the driving, heady intoxication of power.  
Cold enough to destroy his foe.  
  
But he wasn't ready to be a killer. He knew how he felt. He  
knew now, at least.  
  
He could lie, but he couldn't fool himself, and he doubted  
that he could fool her. She probably saw through him.  
  
Saw what he was. A murderer, who didn't deserve what she  
offered. And she offered it anyway. Could she understand how corrupt  
he was?  
  
The ceiling stared back at him, returning his impassive,  
wooden gaze.  
  
***  
  
[Fury. The present.]  
  
"Baka!"  
  
Strike, strike, strike. Three simple blows, repeated in  
quick succession.  
  
"Baka!"  
  
How long had it been since she had trained, earnestly?  
  
"Baka!"  
  
And the fool maintained that he didn't love her -- Didn't  
love her! -- when everyone _knew_ what he had done for her. How  
could he have done it for her if he didn't love her!?  
  
"Baka!"  
  
She saw how much it tore him up inside remembering what he  
had been forced to do for her. Why wouldn't she let him in?  
  
"Baka!"  
  
And then, who was the idiot anyway?  
  
"Baka!"  
  
Strike, strike... and the third blow, falling short of the  
practice dummy as she slumped forward, sobbing.  
  
"Baka..."  
  
So close, so wondrously close.... and the dreams... the  
memories... but had he... did he... was there a purpose?  
  
***  
  
[Wicked. The past.]  
  
He stared at the home where his friend habitually stayed,  
contemplating. His own home was in a place called 'Ruffian Row.'  
  
The name was appropriate. But his friend now, that was a  
different problem.  
  
There was a river to struggle through, he had learned. A  
river of blood. And when one entered battle, one entered this river.  
  
It was not possible to emerge unstained.  
  
Was his friend then, drowning in this river, to never rise  
again? The tide and the power of its flow could wash away even the  
strong.  
  
His friend was strong, he knew, but... strong enough? Was  
the tide greater than his friend?  
  
And what could he do? His friends were no more help then he  
himself was to _his_ friend. He had merely stepped into the river,  
not forged boldly to the center, as his friend had, and could not  
offer his friend the help he needed.  
  
And the other friends were no more help, even the annoying  
child... who was not as much of an annoying child, perhaps, as he  
might have insisted. But then, they had merely dabbled their toes in  
at the edge of this great river, warned away by his friend, standing  
in the depths, and fighting the current.  
  
Diseases of the body could be fought with medicines, but  
what could combat the diseases of the mind? He knew only that he  
lacked the power to help his friend, and he felt himself lose a  
piece of himself every time a piece of his friend slipped.  
  
It was time then, to have a few drinks too many, and visit  
the lady doctor, and perhaps, for an evening at least, be oblivious  
to the problems of the world that he could not fix.  
  
With that thought in mind, he began walking, and quit the  
empty street.  
  
***  
  
[Girl. The past.]  
  
She could not understand his behavior. He had slowly drawn  
into himself, being... _him_ less and less.  
  
It was worrisome, and he would only talk about it with his  
friends, occasionally over drinks, though he himself only ever  
sipped at them, now. He had never been overly fond of drinking  
anyway. Had he? He hadn't when she knew him.  
  
There was a growing distance between them. She wanted to  
reach out to him, to help, but knew that she simply couldn't  
understand the things that compelled him.  
  
Too much was just unknown. He stayed with her, shared her  
home, and she had begun to hope more than that -- perhaps a room,  
even a bed... She glanced at her own bed forlornly, empty at the  
present, but then there was only her to fill it...  
  
Distances between the two widened, as she saw the growing  
fear of... himself? Fear of himself for her, maybe?  
  
It was the kind of thing he would do. He had taken to  
leaving his sword in his room unless he was going out. He could not  
have thought that he'd never need the sword again, and the edge was  
reversed. He couldn't/wouldn't kill with it.  
  
Could/would he?  
  
***  
  
[Lover. The present.]  
  
Her lover did not love her. He seemed to nearly resent her  
at times, but it was not in his nature to be angry with anyone for  
long. He was forgiving, perhaps too much so.  
  
But she knew that he still resented her actions, if not  
herself. She knew that as much as she wished otherwise, he would not  
be hers -- not now.  
  
And it hurt. But she loved him too much to want anything  
except his happiness.  
  
A call from the main room, and a mindless smile, serve  
another bowl of ramen, and back behind the counter again.  
  
The... other... man in her life mopped the floor, muttering  
to himself in low tones, while she considered.  
  
And what to do about that?  
  
Laws were laws, after all. She had her duty, and her heart.  
  
Which one had more weight on her decision?  
  
A mumble from her great-grandmother, and another bowl of  
soup along with some appetizers.  
  
Perhaps it wasn't really her decision.  
  
***  
  
['Friend?'. The present.]  
  
Choices.  
  
She'd had them, she'd taken them, and she'd begun to suspect  
she'd made them wrong.  
  
Looking at her waiter/waitress, she couldn't help but feel a  
pang of guilt.  
  
What did he feel for her, that she ignored... was she then,  
continuing a cycle? She knew that she hurt her waiter/waitress with  
her actions. And she knew that she hurt her childhood friend, as  
well.  
  
And she was going to lose him. Them?  
  
It could be. She was nearly on the verge of losing him. He  
wouldn't fault her. He had told her that he didn't truly mind -- he  
wasn't ready for it to happen yet anyway.  
  
Amazing how one word could drive into her heart like a hot  
spike, screaming the truth louder than any confession of love ever  
could have.  
  
"Yet," he had said. He probably hadn't even realized it.  
  
It told her the truth at least. Maybe it was intentional,  
and he hadn't even known it.  
  
There was a way to remove herself from the cycle of hurting  
those she cared for.  
  
Somewhere.  
  
***  
  
[It might be anger between friends. The present.]  
  
"H... hello."  
  
A long silence.  
  
"Um... I understand if... if you don't want to forgive me,  
but-"  
  
"No, I understand."  
  
Another moment of silence before: "Y... You do?"  
  
"I do. I... I'm not happy. But mistakes happen."  
  
"It won't happen next time, I _swear_. I am so... I'm so  
sorry..."  
  
"It's okay."  
  
***  
  
[This is goodbye? The past.]  
  
No more.  
  
It wasn't safe anymore.  
  
"You're leaving."  
  
Not a question. He couldn't even be certain who was speaking  
anymore, his control was eroded. Was it... her... or simply  
Sannosuke? Maybe even the enemy soldier he thought he saw.  
  
But he wasn't that far gone yet. He would not respond, not  
attack, not fight, not kill, not... give in. He would not give in.  
  
"I have to."  
  
Nothing was said for a time, simply two people, unsure of  
who the other truly was, and watching the sakura petals drift by  
slowly.  
  
"It's beautiful here, isn't it?"  
  
It was, too. More for the people who made the house 'home'  
than anything else, but it was. "Yes."  
  
And who was he talking to, really? The face of another  
nameless enemy flashed before him, obscuring the truth, and he  
fought the urge to grab his sword. "I love you."  
  
It was true. It didn't matter who it was at this point, He  
meant it for everyone. All of them were a part of his life, had  
helped him... not enough, but he couldn't fault them. It was his  
fault that everything that was going wrong... had.  
  
"I should be going, though."  
  
"I hope to meet you again."  
  
That was the impetus he needed. He couldn't stay. Staying  
meant hurting those he loved. No more words after that. He simply  
turned his feet away and began walking. If there was a cure to his  
madness, he would find it, and return to himself.  
  
He would be going as far away as possible, leaving Japan  
entirely. To better keep them from being at risk.  
  
***  
  
[Girl. The past.]  
  
And that was that.  
  
It hurt.  
  
She had it coming to her, she supposed. She should have known  
better, but her heart was not the kind to listen to her about that.  
  
Would he come back? That was what mattered.  
  
She feared he wouldn't, and just as much that he would. What  
if when he came back, he had changed? And it wasn't for the better?  
Or worse, what if _she_ had changed?  
  
***  
  
[Watched. The present.]  
  
They were all around, in some form. Nearer than other days  
perhaps, and less great than they had been before...  
  
But there was something that he thought was a danger to her,  
and he followed her like a hawk.  
  
His friends? He trusted them not to hurt her. Now, at least.  
Everyone had been a little crazy, then... pushed too far in ways  
that they were not at all sure they wanted to go.  
  
He was actually thankful for the distractions that had  
happened when they had. Angry that they would try and hurt her, yes.  
But she wasn't hurt, and he had taken it as a blessing. Until he  
could beat the monster that he knew he was becoming, he couldn't  
move any closer.  
  
Control. Control was the answer. Practice. He hid and walked  
in her shadow, mere feet behind her, and her unknowing of his  
presence.  
  
He would protect her. From everything he could.  
  
Even himself, since he knew he was the greatest danger.  
  
But all weapons are dangerous, and he was a weapon, now.  
Defeating the god-king had proven that. The nauseating thrill of  
power, the surge of confidence in knowing that _he_ could, and had,  
KILLED a god...  
  
He knew all too well how thankful he was that the god-king  
had not stayed dead, because if he had, the dizzying rush of power  
and the rage of loss might have broken him.  
  
***  
  
[Ancient Yin. The present.]  
  
She was old. She knew that.  
  
Yin was control. Perfection.  
  
And it was failing her.  
  
She needed to control her errant son-in-law, and the great-  
granddaughter who was slowly straying... No longer chasing her lover  
like she should.  
  
Son-in-law, however... he had to be controlled, and she was  
getting too old to wait. There were monstrous pressures playing  
about the boy's head, his mind was vulnerable.  
  
A few of the more complex and mistrusted artifacts of the  
Amazon tribe's heritage could be used to... slowly... sway him.  
  
It was simply a matter of persuading him to come to China  
with her, and that he could learn control there. To quell the raging  
beasts that lurked within him.  
  
***  
  
[Friends or more? The present.]  
  
"Hello."  
  
"... Hello..."  
  
"I know we don't get along well... but I'm tired... I'm  
sorry. I'm tired of burnt bridges. I want to reclaim what I can."  
  
"Don't understand..."  
  
"I... I want to be your friend. I don't want to fight  
anymore."  
  
"Oh."  
  
A long pause, before: "If... you don't want to be... I'll  
understand. I just... you know. Ranchan..."  
  
A much longer pause. "Yes... Friends... is good. Would like  
to be your friend, then."  
  
"I... I'm glad, then... thank you."  
  
***  
  
[Wanderer. The past.]  
  
And was this where the answer was going to be found? He had  
rather began to doubt it.  
  
China was a large place, full of mystery, magic, and more...  
  
But he had found only annoyance, filth, and no answers.  
  
One last place to check, though. There was a place of  
springs that was said to be a superb training ground. Rumors  
indicated that there was some sort of local war there...  
  
It would be risked. If the training ground could help him...  
it would help him.  
  
No longer a choice. He had to find an answer, somewhere... A  
cure? And he could return, go back... be with her again.  
  
***  
  
[Warrior. The past.]  
  
Battles were brief and ugly for the most part. His tribe  
gloried in the battle, though. Battles were meant to be won, and  
their foes loathed to lose.  
  
Obvious as that was. But the beauty of the battle, and the  
spoils...  
  
Their enemies were honor bound to become brides, should they  
win!  
  
It was glorious.  
  
***  
  
[Amazon. The past.]  
  
Their enemies were scum.  
  
And the cost of failure was horrific, but the cost of  
victory... was it better?  
  
Then, if they did win, they could claim the defeated foes as  
husbands... unlikely as it was that a single worthwhile husband  
could be claimed from _that_ drooling and vacant lot.  
  
But the battle drew nigh, and then there would be a  
confrontation. The springs, this time. A poor battleground, she  
thought, but it wasn't her choice.  
  
And they wanted to control the springs as much as their foes  
did.  
  
***  
  
[Dreamer. The present.]  
  
She woke up again from the same dream. It haunted her less  
and less though, so she supposed that she was healing.  
  
It had been some years since the hurt was a raw aching wound  
-- of late it was simply a dull remembrance, if it were a hurt at  
all.  
  
But the dream came back anyway. Less often now, but more  
near the anniversary of the day...  
  
She sat up and climbed out of the bed swiftly, checking the  
calendar.  
  
Not close enough. Three more months. At that point, she  
could help. A little.  
  
***  
  
[Fury Tempered. The present.]  
  
"Big sister?"  
  
"Mmmm?" Pot needed attention. Stirring, and a dash of  
spice... which one? A hint of ginger for this would be good. "Yes,  
Akane? What do you need?"  
  
"I'm worried."  
  
No need to say who about. That was obvious. And she was  
worried too, just like her little sister. "Oh? Why's that?"  
  
"It's... Ranma."  
  
That, she had already known, and masked a slight frown of  
irritation, instead giving a contemplating look, and adding another  
dash of ginger. "I see. What are you worried about with him, in that  
case?"  
  
"He's... acting different."  
  
Easily understandable, though. That power was such a sweet,  
numbing lure... "What do you think you should do about it, then?"  
  
A pause there. She had probably been expecting, 'How do you  
mean?' not that. "Um," she began, collecting herself and her  
thoughts. "I... don't know. I want to help him, but I'm not sure  
how."  
  
A dozen answers sprang to Kasumi's mind, most of them  
immediately discarded as she stirred the slowly simmering pot before  
her. "Well," she said. "He's probably worried that he can't let  
anyone close to him. Maybe you need to be strong enough to get  
through his walls and be close to him."  
  
That nearly floored the youngest Tendo girl. An answer like  
that was most... unusual... from her. But it was Kasumi. It had to  
have merit, and there was a challenge buried in it, too. Had to be  
strong enough. "Oh."  
  
***  
  
[Ancient Yang. The present.]  
  
The boy. Heir? Disciple?  
  
Unruly. Uncontrolled. Powerful, though.  
  
Needed to be tempered, and the boy had eschewed all of _his_  
teachings...  
  
But was that bad? The boy seemed much the better for it.  
Better than he was, but not better than he could be. Not yet.  
  
It was a matter to consider.  
  
Ah, a target. Swipe, leap, bounce. Ground? Sky?  
  
More chasers on the ground. Chase. Love the chase. Ground,  
then.  
  
And what of the boy? Heir? Disciple?  
  
Wouldn't see himself that way, though. Not a problem. Was  
groomed enough. He would temper the boy. Balance him in the way he  
had failed at so badly. Give him little pushes in the right  
direction, and big pushes in the wrong ones.  
  
He learned what was right from that.  
  
The Amazon could be a problem, though.  
  
Best keep an eye out.  
  
***  
  
[Clash. The Warriors, the Amazons, and the Dreamer. The  
past.]  
  
No cure. No answer, at any rate. This place did not have  
what he needed to learn control.  
  
Decent training ground, though. Poles on springs. He would  
have to kick off his shoes before trying it, since he didn't want to  
fall in.  
  
A noise at the periphery of his hearing. Two bands  
approaching. He knew battle well enough to recognize it.  
  
Was it real? Imagined? It was getting harder to tell. He  
fingered the cross shaped scar on his cheek, nodding to himself.  
  
Stand, or leave? Not his battle. But they might want to  
involve him anyway. Best draw the sword, then.  
  
Not to fight, purely to defend himself.  
  
The urge was there, the desire to kill, to tear flesh and  
unmake the living, rending them lifeless... but he was stronger than  
that.  
  
Temptation was meant to be resisted. He would resist it. He  
would... draw closer. He was strong, and would not kill.  
  
If it was needed, he would cut, but not kill.  
  
The strength was his, to use and not to use. Not a weapon, a  
sword was a tool.  
  
The edge was lovely, shining under the light of the sun as  
the two warring bands charged one another.  
  
He narrowed his eyes, drawing himself into a stance quickly.  
When had he exchanged the reversed blade for the real one he held  
now? It would be difficult...  
  
No killing, simple wounding. Disable, and not permanently,  
at that.  
  
Control was his.  
  
***  
  
[Watched Temper. The present]  
  
"Ranma."  
  
He looked up. How could he not be aware of her? But he had  
to pretend he was only casually interested in her -- protect her  
from the monster that fought him for control, to make him into a  
fiend that could destroy. "Yeah?"  
  
"I'm worried about you."  
  
He couldn't help but sweat at that. Did she know? She did,  
she had to, she knew, and was going to send him away, where he  
couldn't hurt--  
  
"I wish you would talk to me more. I don't like it when  
you're so quiet."  
  
She... didn't know? "Oh." That changed things. But... talk  
more? About what? He was busy being her shadow everywhere outside of  
the house. Had she talked to someone inside about it, then? "What  
about?"  
  
"I... I don't know. But I'd like to talk to you. I'd like  
you to trust me."  
  
Did she? Maybe there was an anchor, then. He would never  
hurt her... would he?  
  
Control... control... he needed control.  
  
***  
  
[Clash. The Children and the Reaper. The past.]  
  
They were combatants, but they fought too kindly. Not  
warriors, though they might call themselves that. War was a bloody  
art, and these children only played at it.  
  
He would not kill. Not lash out. Not strike.  
  
They were not worth his time. He would not kill...  
  
But the craving the ever present and so much oh-kami oh-  
kami, oh... Kami kami kami... Ida-Ten... keep me from doing this,  
it's wrong, I know it, but I can't... I can't...  
  
Stop me! Stop me! Strike me down, like those who I have  
battled before have begged me!  
  
Crimson slashes, carving twining paths through the air like  
swallows in flight.  
  
It's so beautiful, seductive, I want... need... must have  
more...  
  
Must stop... must stop...  
  
Oh, Ida-Ten, stop me! Make this end, you who is swift and  
just, end me here make my existence for not, I do not have the  
strength, I can't, if I continue, he will die!!  
  
Scarlet lines, spraying across the earth to lie there and  
glisten, blood slowly congealing. It was so rewarding, so  
fulfilling; it was power, control.  
  
Can't! No more! Listen to me! Ida-ten!? Marashita, mercy and  
my destruction!? They are scarcely more than children, STOP ME!!!  
  
Vermilion streamers, and the guttural, moist choking sound  
of someone breathing his last with a punctured lung, and a severed  
jugular. Instants to survive, at most.  
  
The sweet, sweet, oh so dizzyingly glorious resistance of  
his blade passing through flesh, parting it and laying bare the  
fighters to the world, rending them asunder and leaving them to  
bleed their last upon the thirsty soil.  
  
I am weak... I am weak...  
  
I cannot stop. Oh kami, Ida-ten, anyone... take me... take  
me away and send me to the deepest hells, let me commit these  
atrocities no more!  
  
No answers... no answers here...  
  
A flash of cobalt blue light, laced with the taint of red  
obscured his vision, then all was black.  
  
***  
  
[Dreamer. The present.]  
  
Waking with a start.  
  
Again. She had forgotten about that aspect of the dream.  
  
She stumbled to the bathroom, thankful for the fact that she  
was habitually the first to wake, and retched. She would fast for  
three days.  
  
No one would notice, and it would help her, at least. Coping  
was difficult. How long, to atone for all of them?  
  
Two more months from now, and she could go visit them again.  
They, at least, were not her fault. But they had no more ancestors  
to remember them, did they?  
  
Well, her, of course. And Ranma was having trouble, as well.  
  
She could help him, soon. Maybe more than before... events  
would have to be monitored.  
  
***  
  
[Watched. The present.]  
  
He wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew it was bad.  
Everything was too calm, trying to lull him into complacency, going  
to spring on him suddenly.  
  
Moving his neck was hurting. He seemed to remember reading  
about that being a stress related condition, once. Was he that badly  
stressed?  
  
Maybe he was. He wasn't sure.  
  
He watched her, though... her shadow. Open up to her, she  
had said.  
  
What could he tell her? That he was hiding in her shadow,  
following her everywhere short of the lavatory? To make sure that  
nothing could harm her?  
  
She would resent that, and get angry at him, and it would be  
his fault for not respecting her enough...  
  
He needed control. She wanted to be with him, and she wanted  
him as a man. Curse aside, that meant getting rid of himself as a  
monster.  
  
Now, who would provide an answer for that problem?  
  
***  
  
[An Ordered Woman teaches the Watched to look for himself.  
The present.]  
  
"I can teach you what you want to know." And she could.  
Would, too.  
  
"Oh?" Couldn't afford to sound too interested. She'd try and  
use him, and he wouldn't have that. Couldn't afford it. Had to beat  
the monster that he was becoming.  
  
"I know what you're going through -- being eaten away from  
the inside, hmm? Want to know a way to control it, am I right?" Of  
course she was, she knew every nuance of what made the boy tick.  
"You're afraid that you're going to become a monster."  
  
"What makes you say that?" She knew!? Too close to home.  
Subtlety. Make her think that she was close, but not dead on.  
"It's... yeah. Sure. That's it."  
  
"I have my ways." Tricky... was the boy playing with her, or  
was she wrong? Best play it safe, and snare him carefully. Slowly,  
as much as it galled her.  
  
"Okay. So what are you going to do?" Had he fooled her?  
Maybe? With a little bit of luck... too much, he depended on luck.  
More skill was needed.  
  
"I have a few solutions. Here, take this, and keep it close  
to your heart. It will bring you closer to... your human self."  
'This' was a pendant with a small red gemstone set in the center of  
a swirling mosaic of silver.  
  
"And what else does it do?" He trusted her. A little. She  
had taught him much. The Hiryu Shoten Ha, for one... But this much?  
Best to make sure... he didn't think that she would lie to him  
openly.  
  
"Nothing. I wear one myself, you see. Perfectly harmless."  
And it was. To her. Of course, the one she wore was different, it  
would let her know how well it was working what it should be doing  
to him. "Beyond that... it's up to you. You have to have the  
strength..."  
  
"Right. Fine. I'll take it." He did so, and hesitantly  
pocketed the gem. He'd wear it when he was somewhere safe. Not quite  
here, though... this was anything but safe. Then again... where was  
safe?  
  
"I expect that you'll start feeling better soon. If it  
doesn't work, then perhaps you can come back to China with me when I  
return?" That would help convince him, if nothing else did.  
  
She was leaving? That changed things. Maybe he could trust  
her... and maybe it was a ploy. He'd have to find someone he could  
trust. Who? "Yeah... See you around then, if you think that this'll  
really help..."  
  
***  
  
[Ancient Players in a Young Field, part one. The present.]  
  
"Great-granddaughter, I want you to wear this."  
  
"... Why?"  
  
Rebellion? Not expected... not good, either. "Just a gift,  
child. Don't worry about it."  
  
No reason not to trust her. She was blood kin, after all.  
"Thank you, great-grandmother. What is it?"  
  
"It's a bloodstone, with pure-heart silver, child. The  
legends say that they draw lovers together... but hide it from  
sight, and keep its destiny secret. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, great-grandmother. It's very beautiful."  
  
"Perfectly suited for a lovely child like yourself. Remember  
to never remove it, do you understand, child?"  
  
"Yes, great-grandmother."  
  
***  
  
[Warriors convene at the Wanderer. The Past.]  
  
"What do you want to do with him?" He did not understand  
their speech, as he did not speak very much Mandarin, and it was  
thickly accented.  
  
"I say we recoup our losses, and dunk him."  
  
A pause.  
  
"It's not a bad idea."  
  
"Can we do that? Does that work, I mean?"  
  
"It should."  
  
"Hmm... breasts..."  
  
"We're agreed, then?"  
  
"Breasts. Yes."  
  
He opened his eyes too late, striking the water with a  
marginal splash, and clawing his way to the surface, sputtering for  
breath.  
  
A rope wrapped around his neck, pulling him to shore, and  
then hands wrapped around him, dragging him away from the water,  
while his eyes drifted shut, still weak from the attack that had  
knocked him down.  
  
More hands tore at his shirt and pawed at him for a moment  
before his clothing was mostly restored. Too tired to speak, he  
tried to recover, and listened to his captors.  
  
"He's got breasts now! It worked!"  
  
"You idiot. She's not a he anymore!"  
  
"Right, he's a girl. Isn't he?"  
  
"Yes, he is. Now, give me the ladle."  
  
***  
  
[The Dreamer and the Wanderer. The past.]  
  
Who am I?  
  
Who are you?  
  
I don't know anymore.  
  
We are the same, but I am not you. We are what we are, and  
what we will be.  
  
I cannot be a killer, not again. Can you stop me?  
  
Only you can do that. But I will help you.  
  
***  
  
[A line must be drawn between Friends and Lovers...  
somewhere. The present.]  
  
"You've been quiet the last few times we've visited, sugar.  
What's wrong?"  
  
"Great... great-grandmother scares me."  
  
A moment of silence broken only by the muted sizzle of  
something on the grill, before a soft voice: "Sorry, sugar... you  
want to talk about it?"  
  
"Sh... I need... a place to stay. A place to get away from  
her for a while. She's scaring me, and... I've been confused  
since... I can't remember... can you help me?"  
  
The pleading in her eyes was not something she could ignore.  
She was aware in a peripheral sense of her waiter/waitress, watching  
with thinly veiled curiosity. "I can help you. We're friends, right?  
And that's what friends are for."  
  
"Thank you..." I think I like you. But I can't say that,  
because that's not right.  
  
"Any time, sugar." Maybe we could be more than friends...  
you, at least, understand me... but I could never say it. That's too  
much to ask.  
  
***  
  
[Ancient Players in a Young Field, part two. The present.]  
  
"Hey! Old man, tell me what you know about this."  
  
There was a moment of quiet as the aged pervert inspected  
'this', which happened to be a small pendant, with a blood-red  
stone. "Nothing special, Ranma m'boy... why do you ask?"  
  
"Nothing. Just checking it."  
  
***  
  
[Ancient Yang. The present.]  
  
Heartstone... Now why on earth would the old woman want to  
give him such a thing?  
  
He knew that the stone wouldn't affect the boy much beyond  
brining him closer to his more base instincts, but that was  
something he needed help with anyway.  
  
Wasn't it? The old woman would have to be planning  
something, it was just a question of what. And what would the  
heartstone do, anyway?  
  
A chain of honor, to bind him to her great-granddaughter?  
That might be it. He'd need to be watched and pushed closely, to  
keep that from happening, in that case.  
  
There was no way he was willing to let the boy be caught by  
such means. Or follow his own path, at this point. Too much  
potential to be wasted there.  
  
***  
  
[There is no line, unless you need it. The present.]  
  
"No, I don't mind... It's good to have friends, and friends  
have to look after each other."  
  
"You is-- are a very good friend. Thank you."  
  
"Like I said, sugar, any time."  
  
And the unspoken words? The words that she couldn't say?  
What of them? The aching, hidden words she longed to whisper...  
  
Closeness with her first love had been lost, lost to another  
girl. Hard to resent him, when he forgave her so easily, but another  
love, and this one so painfully close -- only half a futon and two  
shirts away. And still so far out of reach.  
  
"Very warm..."  
  
An uncomfortable pause, at that. "Oh... um... should I open  
a window?"  
  
"N... no. Warm is nice." I like you. "I like it warm."  
  
"Me too..." I like your warmth.  
  
When and how had this begun, anyway?  
  
Would she ever forgive her if she found out?  
  
***  
  
[Wanderer. The past.]  
  
Four weeks on the ground, limping away from the cursed  
training grounds -- cursed in so many ways. She wasn't certain what  
had happened in the mad blur that had consumed her after she came to  
her senses, strange men groping her new body, but they severely  
underestimated her skill.  
  
She couldn't remember if she had killed them or not, but the  
sword had been abandoned in favor of a simple wooden stick. It made  
a better travel aid anyway, and the few ruffians that accosted her  
could still be fended off with it.  
  
But what to do with this curse and lack of answers?  
  
Her teacher had suggested, long ago when she was still a he,  
and training under her master....  
  
But he had said to her-then-him, "If you've got two  
problems, make them into a solution with a little bit of ingenuity."  
  
The advice had been given on one of the rare occasions when  
he had imbibed a little bit more than he could handle normally, but  
it was still advice.  
  
How could her current situation help her?  
  
How did the curse help the madness?  
  
***  
  
[Ancient Yin. The present.]  
  
The stone was warm. A good sign, that.  
  
It meant that the pendants she had given to her great-  
granddaughter and son-in-law were seeing their hearts growing close.  
  
She frowned, monitoring the subtle magic that told her of  
their relative strength of affection.  
  
Her affection was much weaker than she would have expected,  
even as his was much stronger.  
  
Had she gotten them mixed up, given son-in-law one, and her  
great-granddaughter another? That must be the solution.  
  
But this was merely a monitor; it wouldn't make sure that  
their affection was for each other. Son-in-law might have feelings  
for that other girl... that could be a problem, but not one that she  
was willing to admit to at the moment.  
  
For now, more pressure across the boy, to make him bend  
under her will and agree to her methods. Until then, she could make  
sure that his affection for her great-granddaughter only increased.  
  
China... soon she would be able to go home, victorious.  
Honor would be satisfied, and she would be able to train her great-  
granddaughter and her son-in-law to make sure that her ideals lived  
on beyond her.  
  
***  
  
[Wanderer. The past.]  
  
Answers. There were answers here that she had overlooked.  
  
Women were not killers, so the monster couldn't touch her  
anymore. Could it? Maybe it could? She wasn't certain, but the  
changes were enough that she could stay away and be safe from it.  
  
From herself. No more need to run away, it was a second  
chance, and a freedom from...  
  
The blade was cast away, but would its single smiling edge  
return to her? Haunt her? She thought she was safe.  
  
And a new life to be begun... how?  
  
***  
  
[Dreamer. The past.]  
  
She stood at the peak of Tanzewa-san, a respectable  
mountain, and looked.  
  
Below her, spread beneath the canopy of the heavens, was the  
world.  
  
A hand reached out, seemingly of its own volition, as though  
she was reaching for that distant point. Her keen eyesight was able  
to make out that smudge that would be some seventy kilometers and  
more distant, and the faint smoke rising from the buildings within.  
  
Tokyo, once Edo.  
  
Her... friends, her... love, if not lover... they awaited  
her there. Could she return?  
  
She doubted it. Returning would not be an option, since it  
would be running from the bad, and taking back only the good. It was  
an all-or-nothing proposal.  
  
Nothing. She would find a home in an outlying village, an  
area that she could live in and atone... so much to atone for...  
  
She turned away, and stared at the setting sun. Climbing  
would be hazardous in the dark, but she had done much more dangerous  
things before. It would be manageable.  
  
***  
  
[Watching Dreams that can scarcely be remembered... The  
present.]  
  
Temple? No, today was a good day. It wasn't _the_ day, but  
she was seldom in a mood to leave her room on that day, and it  
was... a hard day to have to remember. She would deal with that day  
when it came, and in the meantime, she would take him to the  
graveyard to remember her friends, and maybe talk.  
  
Akane wasn't helping him enough, and he was going to lose  
his struggle. She wouldn't have that, not after what it had done to  
her.  
  
"Ranma?"  
  
He looked up, engrossed in a cheap manga, confused at the  
call. "Yeah, Kasumi?"  
  
"I'm going to the graves today. Would you please accompany  
me?"  
  
He balked at that momentarily, a wild and fearful light  
burning in his eyes before he managed a nod, almost a spastic jerk.  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
"Come along, then."  
  
No, she would not let him lose that battle, having known the  
cost of failure too closely herself.  
  
***  
  
[Wandering through Time. The past.]  
  
She hated the Thought. It was nearly constant, as she picked  
her way through the bomb-shattered buildings, one eye always looking  
for signs of life in the ruins.  
  
But the Thought would not leave her.  
  
She knew the answer it its question, but she didn't like it.  
  
Changing directions, she tried to think of something else.  
  
In a sense, this war was a blessing, because it would let  
her rebuild her life without people noting her problems. Adapting to  
life as a woman was a difficulty, but possible. Her body did not  
age, but the books she had read in the time she had lived explained  
much of why the monthly bleeding had stopped. Some aspects of her  
unwanted semi-immortality were finite, and the capacity to bear  
children was one of them.  
  
She had to wonder at that. It had been long enough, hadn't  
it? She was never planning on having children, she was... well, she  
was a woman, but she had not always been so. And she was going to  
maintain that aspect, at least.  
  
She frowned, unhappy at the way her mind was wandering, and  
returned her thoughts to their proper course. The war was a  
blessing, but she had to curse herself for thinking of it that way  
when so many had died, and so many more would continue to die.  
  
Using it as cover, she could hide her curse, for a while.  
Until she could find a way to hide it better.  
  
And the Thought returned, unbidden.  
  
Was this the world that she had fought for? Was it worth it,  
all that killing? For this?  
  
***  
  
[Dreams for the Future. The past.]  
  
"Tendo-san... I have a proposal for you and your wife."  
  
The young martial artist exchanged a worried glance with his  
wife, as she held a cloth to her mouth and coughed. He helped his  
wife to a seat, and trying to pretend that the bloodstains on the  
handkerchief weren't there.  
  
He was afraid of this woman, who had not been seen to age in  
the entire time she had lived in the neighborhood. Scared in a  
different sense from the way that he was worried for his wife's  
health.  
  
But she was friendly, with a warm smile, and well-kept  
manner. Her hair was neatly combed back, not a strand out of place,  
and her elegant kimono just... seemed to work, even though it wasn't  
the fashion of the time.  
  
The martial artist nodded, worried for his ailing wife  
again. They could not afford a doctor, and their shambles of a home  
was not adequate for raising a family. They were young, though, and  
the man had no skills aside from his martial arts.  
  
And she had her own problems.  
  
Take two problems, and make a solution with them.  
  
He reached a hand towards a teacup, but set it down when the  
trembling became apparent, not wanting to display his fear. "Yes?  
What do you want?" He frowned, dismayed at the worry that should not  
have been evident in his voice.  
  
The woman's smile increased slightly. "I need a family," she  
stated. "I have money, and I need a family, and a home."  
  
The martial artist blinked, not understanding, and clutched  
his wife's hand tightly. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I can help you. I have money. You need a real home, and a  
doctor. Can we reach an agreement, then?"  
  
He narrowed his eyes. "I... You want to help us?"  
  
The woman nodded. "Very much so. Here is what I propose..."  
  
***  
  
[Watching old Dreams lain to rest. The present.]  
  
A ladle, for one. That was important. Ceremony.  
  
She dipped the ladle into a bucket, and carefully washed the  
tombstone off.  
  
The child stood to one side, wondering at his role in these  
events. "Um... Kasumi?"  
  
The question. She wouldn't have brought him here if she  
weren't expecting it. "Yes, Ranma?"  
  
His eyes were locked onto the ladle, bearing its load of  
water to cleanse the burial marker again. "Who was this person?"  
  
Kasumi answered without pausing her ceremonial cleansing of  
the stone, "Kamiya Kaoru." She was aware of Ranma's eyes boring into  
her, even as she finished cleaning, and prepared an offering. "She  
was a friend," she commented, igniting some incense. "But that's not  
important, right now."  
  
His mouth opened slowly, his eyes moving back to the stone  
to trace the dates. "You... 1862... how... she... but?"  
  
She smiled softly, staring at the stone still. "A good  
friend," she whispered. "We don't speak very often, Ranma... but I  
worry more that you don't speak with Akane. You should, you know."  
  
He flinched, sliding back half a step from her reprimand.  
"But..." he started, before clamping his mouth shut and lowering his  
head.  
  
She nodded knowingly. "I spent so many years wondering if it  
was worth it."  
  
"What was worth it?" He asked, bewildered.  
  
She shook her head, addressing the stone. "I'm sorry. I  
should visit more often, Kaoru-dono. This is Ranma, he's a friend of  
mine, and he has a problem much like mine."  
  
Ranma fell silent, watching uncomfortably.  
  
"Yes, he's a very good person... No, he's doing what I did.  
I know. I hope he can listen, and let the love in his heart drive  
out the beast... rather than fail as I did."  
  
Ranma stepped back again, seeing the emotion flare brightly  
in her eyes, as she spoke to a specter from her past.  
  
"I... I miss you, Kaoru. I hope to see you again, once my  
penance is paid." She lowered her head, sighing, and wiped away a  
stray tear. In a voice that was barely a whisper, she said, "I don't  
want to let him fail like I did..."  
  
---------------- 


	2. Part Two

---------------------------------  
Will You Dance With Me...  
---------------------------------  
  
Disclaimer: As always the paints are the property of  
Takahashi Rumiko, Viz video, and this time, also Nobuhiro Watsuki,  
who owns Ruroni Kenshin. The easel is mine, but that is all.  
  
Notes: Please _please_ be certain to read the first part of  
this story, "I am Become..." before you read this fic. Otherwise, it  
will make little-to-no sense. You can find it here:  
http://members.tripod.com/lwf58/fan_fiction/durandall/index.html  
  
Addendum: Apparently this fic drove about half of the pre-  
readers insane. They recommend re-reading the original before you  
read this, lest it destroy your mind.  
  
  
---------------------------------  
  
"Ghosts."  
  
The word escaped his lips before he could stop it, flying  
across the distance and settling in the ears of one whom might have  
heard it even had it remained unspoken.  
  
Her eyes flitted briefly to his, a silent embrace of wills,  
reassurance from those luminous pools, and she nodded. "There are  
ghosts here."  
  
He shivered, suddenly afraid and alone, wondering what was  
to become of him, and how he would cope with them. Ghosts? Only one.  
And it, not dead. That ghost was alive, possibly someday to return,  
banished as it was those long months ago. But that thought did not  
help, as it should have.  
  
She stepped towards him, laying a hand atop his shoulder as  
an angry and defiant fire burned in the depths of her gaze. "I will  
not loose you to your ghosts. You will not make the mistake I have."  
  
He shuddered again, not knowing how to respond, and  
wondering what other untold mysteries and secrets she carried with  
her, as his lips committed a second betrayal, surprising both of  
them.  
  
"Ghosts."  
  
***  
  
[Kentou. The present.]  
  
Mayoigo.  
  
That was how he had seen himself much of the time. A lost  
child.  
  
He had hoped, and fought, and grown... no... perhaps not  
grown. That had been a failure, and he had not seen it until it was  
nearly too late.  
  
He had become larger, at least, and strong. He shook his  
head at the thought. His mind wandered more than his feet, some  
days.  
  
But he had been forced to grow when he saw something that he  
could not deny, and a certain part of himself called to him --  
warning him that he had no chance to defeat his... foe?  
  
He shook his head again at the thought, taking a moment to  
clear his mind and his vision, not knowing where he was, but feeling  
a pair of strings guiding his heart. And which one to follow?  
  
There were two of them, elaborate and laced, knotted about  
his heart in a bow. One a dull brown, the other a vibrant red,  
though both led away -- further than he could see.  
  
He sighed, shaking his head, and obeying the tugging on his  
heart. He knew where he was, in a peripheral sense, and he knew  
where he was going. He was not staying in that place -- merely  
passing through the area he had once spent so much of his time in.  
  
No, there was no solution to his problems here, but laying  
blame for them would not solve anything. He contemplated, not for  
the first time, an apology.  
  
How well would such a thing be received? Would either of  
them care?  
  
No, he decided, they had enough of their own troubles  
without his interference.  
  
Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the ribbon on  
his heart, dutifully following the brown ribbon as the red slowly  
became unknotted to fall to the dusty earth behind him.  
  
He spared it a single sorrowful glance before leaving. He  
knew too well that there was no way he could help his... friend.  
Much as he might have plead otherwise, he could admit that to  
himself, with the red cord cut. Yes. A friend, not a rival for...  
her... affection.  
  
A smile formed on his face, as he followed the line before  
him again. Who was to say it was truly any less red?  
  
***  
  
[A dreamer prays for the lost. The present.]  
  
He could not have known that she was watching him. He could  
not have known... but she smiled in fond remembrance. He could have  
been a great ally, or a terrible foe. It was not such a horrible  
fate to have him removed from the field without harm. That thread,  
at least, could be discounted from her plans.  
  
Her fingers flew to her lips, tracing their contours with  
their tips as she frowned thoughtfully. Someone was interfering.  
  
She turned her attention to the red ribbon that she knew of,  
even if she couldn't see. She knew its hold on the boy was gone,  
but...  
  
What of Ranma? He was no closer to a solution, and tensions  
were mounting. Her frown deepened remembering the impulsive theft,  
and it's deeper significance.  
  
"Akane," she said softly, the tone of command in her voice  
unnoticeable. It would be followed regardless.  
  
"Yes, big sister?"  
  
"I think it's time we had a talk about you and Ranma."  
  
***  
  
[Fury. The present.]  
  
She stared at the wall blankly. A bare wall.  
  
Her sister's warnings and admonishments buzzed about her,  
leaving her dazed and frightened.  
  
Frowning, she sat on her bed, and studied the wall more  
intently. Not entirely bare. There was a hanger for her school  
clothes, but largely the wall was empty... devoid of color and life.  
  
Biting her lip, she considered more closely. What of the  
blank wall? What could it be?  
  
Anything. She simply needed to be willing to help it.  
  
And... Ranma.  
  
***  
  
[Watching foolishness. The present.]  
  
The boy hedged uncertainly.  
  
The man frowned, wondering about his son's behavior.  
  
The boy sighed, turning to face his father and regard him  
frankly. "Pops," he said, struggling to speak.  
  
Nodding gruffly, the older man affected an air of  
superiority. "You need help with something, boy?"  
  
He returned his father's gruff nod. "I... I need help,  
Pops."  
  
***  
  
[The Dreamer. The past.]  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
She turned slowly, studying the young couple before her.  
Smiling at them gently, she shook her head. "I have to see... To  
explore and see if it was worth it."  
  
The young woman frowned, not understanding, and leaning on  
her husband for support as she held a handkerchief to her lips.  
"What do you mean?"  
  
She shook her head again, waving a hand dismissively. "It is  
not for you to worry about. Live here, enjoy your lives, and I will  
return in a few years..."  
  
"Himura-san?"  
  
She cocked her head to one side, still smiling at the  
couple. "Yes?"  
  
"Why... why did you help us?"  
  
The smile faded somewhat as she shouldered her pack and  
stepped out of the door. "Penance? Maybe my own selfish desires...  
I'm not certain. Be well, I will return."  
  
"Th... thank you, Himura-san."  
  
She nodded, not turning back. Another murmur escaped her  
lips -- to quietly to be overheard. "That name, too, will have to  
go..."  
  
***  
  
[Pariah. The present.]  
  
He wiped at a table absently, thinking. What had he gotten  
for his troubles?  
  
Nothing.  
  
... She... did not want him, though the mere thought of it  
set his teeth on edge and made his stomach churn. He could admit it  
now, without going into violent rages. The thought still made him  
furious, but he had no choice. Ranma was not his foe; he knew that  
much.  
  
Even if Ranma was not a foe, he knew full-well that he had  
no hope of challenging the man in combat. Or anything, for that  
matter.  
  
It rankled him, driving him nearly mad, but he had come to  
make his decision.  
  
He would not ask... her... if she loved him. He would not  
ask... her... if she would leave with him.  
  
He would not ask... not ask...  
  
He stopped suddenly, blinking back salty tears, mixed with  
beads of sweat, and paused to wipe at his eyes. She was gone now  
more than she was present, though he wasn't certain where. He nodded  
sadly to himself, unclenching his hand and wiping at the bloody  
gouges he had torn into the softer skin of his palms.  
  
He would accept his loss to whoever had claimed... her  
heart. Whoever that man was, he would surrender to him willingly,  
acknowledging his defeat.  
  
***  
  
[Foolish dreams of temperance. The present.]  
  
She scowled from the entrance of the room, not bothering  
this once to hide her irritation at the rotund man. She had failed  
that mask of obliviousness before -- the first time she could recall  
since she had returned being when Soun had attempted to engage her  
to the boy.  
  
The only satisfaction she got was that the boy knew enough  
to tell he wasn't being helped by the man's answers.  
  
She shook her head sadly, turning away and meeting the gaze  
of a younger girl.  
  
"Akane," she whispered softly.  
  
Akane's eyes held a soft glow of betrayal; the shimmering  
that came with the preparations to shed tears. "I can't," she  
whimpered finally. "It's too much. I can't..."  
  
Her own eyes narrowing in response, she nodded. The forces  
and immeasurably dark pressures about the boy were too much for  
Akane to brave. "I understand," she stated succinctly, focusing her  
will on reaching the girl one last time. "You have one more chance.  
If you cannot, then _I_ will. I will not let him fail as I have."  
  
Shocked, stunned, and hurt, the girl could only stare as the  
woman who had been mentor, friend, older sister, and part-time  
mother spun and marched away, leaving her alone in the hall.  
  
***  
  
[Lover. The present.]  
  
What to do?  
  
She knew... she knew so much it cut into her like a keen  
blade, the knife-edged longing and desire keeping her awake and  
unhappy the few nights she did not sleep with... her.  
  
But her great-grandmother would never let it pass, were she  
to know about it.  
  
She turned her mind back to the present, the unfulfilling  
task of serving food to empty headed men. And... that one... was  
there, though he had learned to keep his distance, as time wore on.  
  
***  
  
['Friend?'. The present.]  
  
Her family would never forgive her.  
  
She knew it.  
  
There was no way she could manage to get them to understand  
it.  
  
She accepted it.  
  
More importantly, there was no way that she could tell...  
her... about what she felt.  
  
She hated it.  
  
But even more than that, there was no way that she could  
continue as she had, simply not saying anything. She could no longer  
share space with her, and pretend as though nothing was amiss. It  
was eating into her, hammering at her already wounded heart.  
  
She had to tell her.  
  
***  
  
[Ever wend the deepening spiral. The past.]  
  
The Answer to the Question.  
  
At last.  
  
She found it.  
  
The Question had haunted her, tormenting her endlessly, but  
now she had the Answer for it.  
  
It wasn't worth it.  
  
She opened her eyes, looking down at the sea below her,  
easily over a hundred feet to the jagged rocks below, which would  
later be covered by the pounding surf.  
  
It might even be enough to kill her, though she had an odd  
suspicion that it wouldn't.  
  
But was _that_ the answer? Deaths... so many deaths... would  
ending her own life satisfy them? Or would she have to make  
restitution?  
  
They were not evil men, so there was no justification in  
that. They simply believed differently from her. And that meant that  
they were both wrong, but she was alive, and they were not.  
  
Only the situation wasn't that simple. Killing herself was a  
poor exchange for the countless lives she had ended. There was no  
excuse.  
  
But death had made no move to take her, either. Perhaps  
then, she had best make the most of what she had, and settle the  
ghosts that she bore?  
  
But it was such a long path, and there were so many ghosts  
to lay to rest...  
  
No choice.  
  
She owed them. "I think I know what my task is," she  
whispered quietly, turning away from the cliff.  
  
***  
  
[Line broken. The present.]  
  
"Look... I... gotta tell you up front. I'm sorry, but...  
I... I can't be your friend anymore."  
  
A pained silence, and teary eyes, more than just her own.  
"Why?" a rasping, plaintive cry.  
  
"I... I... damn it... I can't because... I..." Wringing her  
hands, looking away and wearing an expression that said she hated  
herself for the thing that she had just said.  
  
A lone tear trickling down her cheek. "... D-don't want to  
be your friend either." A sympathetic flinch at the sudden pain that  
mirrored her own, rendering the two nearly beyond speech.  
  
"I'm sorry. It's because... because..."  
  
"I love you."  
  
Silence.  
  
***  
  
[Dreamer and Ancient Yang. The present.]  
  
"I can't help but think that there's more to you than it  
looks like..." She must have, because she seemed to move people too  
easily.  
  
Did he suspect? "Ara?"  
  
"You're a damn fine ally for the boy." He shook his head,  
looking away.  
  
Was he an enemy or an ally in this puzzle? "How do you  
mean?"  
  
"Hmm... I know you didn't mean what you said." Nothing  
perverse escaped his notice, and he knew that she had no intentions  
of doing what she had claimed to her sister.  
  
Best play the fool as always. The old man probably had his  
share of ghosts, too. "Ara?"  
  
***  
  
[Dreams for the Fool. The present.]  
  
Soft scents of sustenance.  
  
He frowned, wondering at the imagery evoked. What would be  
cooking, then?  
  
He yawned hugely, trying to ignore the thoughts, and turning  
his attention to the game board before him. Little tiny pieces, all  
lined up, like... like...  
  
He stared at the board in thought, wondering at his next  
move, until a plate was placed before him. He accepted it with a  
mumbled thanks to the bearer of the plate.  
  
Food is waiting here.  
Boy is missing. Punish him  
later. Stupid boy.  
  
He smiled at his own cleverness, ignoring the small part of  
his mind that shrieked that he was better than that, had been so  
much more...  
  
She clicked her tongue idly, eyes glancing between the men  
at their game board. Both of them had succeeded in controlling their  
own ghosts. One at the expense of his control, the other at the  
expense of himself.  
  
She sighed, turning towards the kitchen. Obviously those  
paths were no better than the one the boy was on... He would be kept  
from that fate... he had to be. How else could she begin to atone?  
  
***  
  
[Lack of guiding dreams. The past.]  
  
"So..."  
  
"So."  
  
"It's been a while. What have you been up to?"  
  
"Mm... not much. Yourself?"  
  
"I've been thinking... we need to improve, you know?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Our skills, Tendo. We need to find a smart and powerful  
sensei to teach us more martial arts."  
  
"Why? I'm good enough to make by..."  
  
"That's all well and good for you, but what about me? I  
don't have a dojo... I need to be much better. And _you_ need to be  
good enough to withstand any wandering dojo yaburi that want to  
destroy your school."  
  
"Um... I never thought of that."  
  
"Tendo... you must consider these things. Now, what I  
propose is that we find someone who can train us further, until  
we're good enough. This won't get me a dojo, but I have a plan for  
that..."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Well, yes. We don't have any children yet, but once we do,  
they can unite our schools, thus ensuring that our teachings will  
live on, and your dojo would be safe."  
  
"Wouldn't that be 'our' dojo, Saotome?"  
  
"Very kind of you... but not yet. We simply have to find  
someone to teach us. So let's start looking for a strong sensei."  
  
"Um... We could ask... no... we couldn't."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"I know someone... but she's gone... it doesn't matter.  
Let's start looking."  
  
"A woman? Well... right."  
  
***  
  
[Ascension and Control. The present.]  
  
"Ranma." I can't do this... I can't do this...  
  
Chaos.  
  
Turn slowly; act like she surprised you. "Yeah, Akane?"  
  
Control.  
  
"We need to talk." I can't do this. I can't do this.  
  
Chaos.  
  
Not good. Is she suspicious? "What about?"  
  
Control.  
  
"Ranma... you... I..." Oh, kami... I want to help him. I  
want to, but I can't. I don't know how!  
  
Chaos.  
  
This is bad. What's wrong? Is she pushing me away? Did I  
make a mistake!? Keep panic out of your voice, you moron. "What are  
you talking about?"  
  
Control...  
  
"Ranma. Come here." I _will_ do this. I just hope...  
  
Chaos...  
  
This is bad... this is bad... this is bad... I finally did  
it. I pushed to far, and now it's all gonna come crashing down...  
moron, moron, moron, moron... "... okay..."  
  
Control failure.  
  
"Do you trust me?" I will do this...  
  
Pattern detected.  
  
What is this? What's going on? I need help... help...  
help... help... I'm pathetic. I'm weak... I'm nothing. "...help...  
help me..."  
  
Control failure cascading.  
  
"I trust you, and I want to help you..." Kami... Ranma...  
what's happened to you? Please, don't let me lose you... let me help  
you.  
  
Pattern signal increasing.  
  
Kami! I can't! If I... If I... But... Kasumi said...  
maybe... I can... it's too dangerous... but I lo- "Akane."  
  
Control failure compleee....... t.... e.  
  
"Yes, Ranma?" I wish I knew what to say...  
  
Signal identified.  
  
I don't know what to say... "I love you." Maybe words aren't  
needed.  
  
Release.  
  
***  
  
[Once more unto the Breach. The present.]  
  
It was out. Now she knew. So what next?  
  
"No..."  
  
Of course. It was to be expected. It hurt, oh kami it  
hurt... but she knew it was coming. "Sorry."  
  
"No..."  
  
It hurt. A dagger in her heart, and all of it her own fault.  
Of course it wouldn't work, but that hope had to die such a painful  
death... it wasn't fair. Not fair at all. "Sorry."  
  
"No..."  
  
It had to stop; she couldn't handle much more of it. "I said  
I was sorry. This... this really hurts, okay?  
  
***  
  
[Calm before the Storm. The present.]  
  
Seeds of distrust, hate, self-loathing... she had those --  
those and more. Allies, tools... they were nothing to her. The crazy  
sword wielding boy, or his equally crazed sister... or perhaps she  
hadn't been so crazy. The plan had no room for failure, and it  
depended on her being crazy.  
  
So she was made to be mad, on the chance that she wasn't  
already.  
  
The old woman nodded in satisfaction, clutching the stone  
about her neck, and pleasing herself anew with its warmth. She knew  
that things would go well, but this had exceeded even her  
expectations.  
  
***  
  
[Bonds broken and forged anew. The past]  
  
"I've returned."  
  
The couple seemed startled, staring with jaws agape before  
collecting themselves. "Welcome... Himura-san! You are looking quite  
well. Welcome home."  
  
She affected a weak smile, feeling the burdens mount on her  
back. "Home... hmm... How have things been for you? It's been three  
years."  
  
The man beamed proudly, gesturing her to follow while his  
wife clung to his elbow, flushed and smiling. "Come, I wish to show  
you something."  
  
She followed the young couple hesitantly, already guessing  
what they were to show her. "Ah." She smiled, peering over the edge  
of a cradle at a slumbering child. "I see that the medicines  
helped."  
  
The woman nodded, then coughed. "Um... there is... another,  
you see... We were hoping you would come back and name her, since  
you've done so much for us..." The woman bit her lip and stared at  
the floor.  
  
She smiled in understanding. "It's okay. What is the child's  
name, then?"  
  
The man answered, one hand seeking his wife's. "Her name is  
Nabiki."  
  
She said nothing for a long moment, simply nodding. "It is a  
good name... but what is this 'other'?"  
  
Grinning widely, the man gestured to his wife, as the  
woman's flush deepened. "I," she began hesitantly, "am going to have  
another child soon... and we'd like you to name him or her..."  
  
She raised an eyebrow at that, wondering at how her life  
would have to change now. "That is a great honor..."  
  
***  
  
[Clouds and Rain. The present.]  
  
She wasn't certain where it began, just a tender touch, a  
tentative kiss.  
  
The sparks from that contact urged more, a sensation welling  
from deep inside.  
  
Build.  
  
But the feelings returned were real, making it a deeper  
thing between two lovers.  
  
Further touches, more firm and intense.  
  
Control.  
  
Silent eyes communicated more than words could at that  
moment.  
  
No room for words, with the confusing blur of touch, the  
taste of the other's tongue...  
  
Unity.  
  
And a sense of fulfillment from the other, of becoming one  
with them.  
  
Part of a greater thing then they -- there was life there.  
  
Release.  
  
  
--------------------------------  
...Along the Razor's Edge?  
--------------------------------  
  
Synthesis.  
  
A grizzled woman sat along in her room, clutching a faintly  
pulsing talisman in one aged claw, and cackling to herself in  
satisfaction.  
  
A young man with a heavy heart stood firm in his resolve,  
seeking out the one he loved to tell her she would be free of him,  
for the man who had claimed her heart.  
  
A much older man watched over his young ward, awe at his  
student's power apparent on his visage, as soft words escaped his  
lips, "You have succeeded where I failed..."  
  
A pair of young lovers lay tangled in the sheets of a room,  
the young woman struggling to accept the enormity of what she had  
done, while her lover lay quiescent, staring at the ceiling, and  
presently began to speak...  
  
Two young women watched each other in amusement and alarm,  
unsure of the next move as they hesitantly began to dress.  
  
An older woman still, though young in appearance watched  
over it all, wondering who would make the next move.  
  
Balance.  
  
***  
  
[Some lines are not to be crossed. The present.]  
  
He stalked down the streets, searching for some clue or sign  
of her whereabouts.  
  
No sense waiting, letting his heart turn sourer by the lack  
of regard she held for him. He would tell her.  
  
While he was still strong.  
  
***  
  
[Lapsing from visibility to tranquility. The present.]  
  
"Why..."  
  
"I don't know. I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be... I should be."  
  
"No... this is silly. I'm... I'm... You're worth it. I want  
to help you."  
  
"This wasn't... the only way..."  
  
"Doesn't matter. What next?"  
  
"I... I don't know. But... Thank you."  
  
"Do you want to talk to me now?"  
  
"I... yes."  
  
***  
  
[Genius of Folly. The past.]  
  
"M... Master?" He was unable to make his voice stop  
wavering. Had he... had he really?  
  
Was the whelp suffering from his actions so soon?  
Foolishness. "You're smarter than that, Genma. It was self-defense.  
Let it go. They would have killed _us_ otherwise."  
  
"But... I didn't mean..." Why did they have to be here? What  
was the purpose?  
  
With his luck, the other student would probably be just as  
broken up. "Don't loose your head, fool. Think straight. I know  
you're smart, so let this pass. Self-defense."  
  
"Weak justification." And it was. Soun would fare little  
better, most likely. He was a murderer...  
  
They were going to have to deal with it. Different from the  
way he dealt with his problems, but why was he cursed with such weak  
men? No sense leading them down his path; he'd seen it to be a  
failure. "You just have to forge ahead and make your own path  
through this problem. You'll find a way."  
  
"A way... yes... I see a way." A sacrifice. Give a piece of  
himself up to let the dead lay at rest? Madness. But maybe the best  
answer.  
  
He was sharp, that Genma. "I know you're bright. Brains like  
yours should find a solution quickly."  
  
***  
  
[The dreamer. The present.]  
  
She stood in front of the door to the youngest girl's room,  
nodding to herself.  
  
"Good enough," she whispered, respecting them and leaving  
them alone. "Be strong for what happens next, Ranma, but know that  
you will not ever have to face it alone."  
  
She turned down the hall, marching to her own room, and the  
closet, with its secrets, a hundred years and more waiting.  
  
***  
  
[Ancient Yin. The present.]  
  
She grinned at the talisman in her hands, the reverberating  
pulses of warmth telling her that the chain of honor was secure. The  
boy would be loyal as long as she lived, and there was no room for  
error on this one. Her great-granddaughter and he had come together  
enough for it to be obvious that there was no other way.  
  
"Time to collect," she whispered to herself, turning to a  
desk and preparing a letter.  
  
***  
  
[Dreams of wishes. The present.]  
  
"Excuse me..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm looking for Shan Pu, but... the old monkey asked me to  
give this to Ranma. I don't really want to see him right now..."  
  
"I understand. Thank you."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
***  
  
[Family convenes. The present.]  
  
She placed the letter on the table before him where he was  
sitting, a much more relaxed and contemplative expression than he  
had worn recently gracing his features. "This came for you."  
  
He nodded, taking the letter and opening it quickly,  
scanning the flawlessly written characters. His brow furrowed, and  
he set the letter back on the table, shaking his head. "I don't  
understand."  
  
The girl next to him peered at the letter, frowning sharply.  
"I can't read Chinese."  
  
The woman's eyes flickered across the letter before she  
joined the younger in frowning. "I can."  
  
"Me too," the boy muttered. "At least, enough to see what  
she's saying here."  
  
The woman's piercing gaze settled on the boy. "Is it true?"  
  
"Of course not!"  
  
"Then it's a trap."  
  
"I guess... I guess I'd better go deal with her then..."  
  
"No." Not from the woman; from the girl.  
  
The woman and the boy stared in surprise. "What?"  
  
"I'm going with you."  
  
"I as well."  
  
"I can't stop you?"  
  
A glance between the girl and the woman, then responses in  
one voice, "No."  
  
***  
  
[Ancient Yang. The present.]  
  
Fools. They thought that they could manage alone. Perhaps  
that woman was something he couldn't understand, and maybe she had a  
secret, or a trick up her sleeves...  
  
But it was foolishness to think that they could do what they  
were planning without help.  
  
He knew that they would need help. A simple matter to follow  
them and make sure that they weren't left alone to long.  
  
He winced, rubbing at a frilly piece of lace.  
  
It hurt to focus that much.  
  
The boy had to be admired for his balance, though he wasn't  
able to do it alone... and neither was he, when he thought about it.  
  
***  
  
[The Shadow. The present.]  
  
She knew, in the same way that she knew that she wasn't  
really... a woman... that she hadn't won. It wasn't a matter of  
analyzing points and asking, "What went wrong?"  
  
It was a matter of simply not ever having a chance in the  
first place.  
  
Such was life.  
  
Her life was full of hardships, to the point where simple  
steamed rice was a luxury. Being denied something that was never  
rightfully hers was something she could cope with easily, and if  
nothing else, there was friendship. That was important, and worth  
more than fanciful dreams of romances that could never happen.  
  
In a sense, she was pleased for her mistress, finding...  
happiness... the way that she had. Things would be changing, but she  
was glad for her mistresses happiness... and her mistresses lover.  
She deserved better, and then got it.  
  
She had to wonder what lay in store for herself, but...  
every family could benefit from a guardian. Smiling, she set about  
tidying up the already immaculate store, affecting ignorance as her  
mistress and her lover ran in, hand-in-hand.  
  
A giggle echoed down the stairs as the lovers ascended, and  
she clicked her tongue once, flipping the entrance sign to 'closed,'  
and leaving the door unlatched behind her.  
  
Time enough to worry about that later. In the meantime,  
there was shopping to do, and an undeniable joy overpowering the  
faint disappointment. She had family, and belonged.  
  
***  
  
[Pariah's fragile paradigm. The present.]  
  
He glided down the street silently, his feet scarcely  
touching the ground as he ghosted forward, trailing... her.  
  
Rage!  
  
No no no no no no no... Can't give up, fought more than ten  
years, not to lose! No! Not good enough... no! Would --  
  
Check.  
  
Now was as good a time as ever, lest he loose his resolve.  
Whatever man...  
  
Rage.  
  
... no, she's mine, mine mine mine mine! I can't... no...  
Will win! Will become good enough somehow, will --  
  
Check.  
  
He shook his head, trying to erase the images of... her...  
  
Finding the door unlatched, he entered the restaurant. Time  
to say goodbye...  
  
Rage...  
  
She belongs to me! ME! She is mine... mine... Never... never  
give up... she's...  
  
Check.  
  
***  
  
[Of names and naming. The past.]  
  
"What... what should we name the child, Himura-san?"  
  
She blinked, startled out of her reverie. "We don't know if  
it's going to be a or a girl yet. How can I name it?"  
  
"A name for each? He or she will be your brother or sister,  
after all."  
  
Sister? She'd had... Blinking back a sudden tear, she  
nodded. "If it's a boy, then... Yahiko. If it's a girl..."  
  
"Himura-san?"  
  
She blinked suddenly, wiping away tears. The women who had  
died to try and protect him as a mere child... the ones who had  
given their lives in the hopes that he become something greater, to  
live and... He had failed. _She_ had failed. The guardians, then. A  
promise to build a success out of the failure that had already  
plagued her. "Akane. And I'll be Kasumi, now."  
  
"Those are lovely names, Kasumi-san."  
  
Kasumi nodded, feeling an eerie sense of tranquility  
settling into her at the thought. "I think... I think I'm going to  
have a sister..."  
  
"Kasumi-san?"  
  
Kasumi smiled. "Kasumi. Not 'Kasumi-san.' I'm your daughter  
now, remember?"  
  
***  
  
[Ancient Yin in the challenge yard. The present.]  
  
She grinned toothily, waiting in the center of the empty  
lot. He would know better than to try and avoid the issue, and would  
most likely bring her wayward great-granddaughter with him.  
  
A dim worry began scratching at the back corners of her  
minds, but was quickly ignored. There was no room for failure.  
  
She allowed a single flash of irritation to cross her face  
before she regained her composure. Meddlers... the boy was  
followed... or taking people with him.  
  
Well, she had sent the letter as a challenge, but she could  
stand against him easily enough, her... assistants... would be able  
to counter any unexpected additions short of the old man himself,  
but she suspected she could handle him, even if it was at a cost.  
  
***  
  
[Confrontation and conflict. The present.]  
  
"Son... in law..." She furrowed her brow, looking at the boy  
in displeasure. "Where is your lover?"  
  
He glanced instinctively towards the younger girl, shaking  
his head. "I thought you were an ally."  
  
The woman behind the boy stared, her eyes taking in  
everything quickly, as she adjusted her stance, bearing a wooden  
blade with a somber expression. "Things are never as they seem,  
Ranma."  
  
The old woman narrowed her eyes. "Where is Shan Pu?"  
  
The boy shrugged, narrowing his eyes. "Dunno. Haven't seen  
her in a few days."  
  
***  
  
[Paradigm lost. The present.]  
  
He frowned, hearing a muted noise from above, followed by a  
giggle.  
  
Rage.  
  
She's found another -- replaced, useless, unneeded --  
  
Check.  
  
He slipped quietly up the stairs, a sickening fear and worry  
beginning to gnaw at his heart as he ascended the stairs. But she  
couldn't have... and if she had... she had not ever been his.  
  
Another giggle and a slight gasp. "No," he whispered,  
already _knowing_ that his suspicions were true, and hoping they  
weren't.  
  
Rage.  
  
Betrayal! Betrayal! She is your! She is yours! Go and take  
her, destroy --  
  
Check.  
  
The door stood before him, the sounds behind it  
unmistakable. "No..." his hand rose inexorably, preparing to confirm  
it, while his heart desperately pleaded for it to somehow not be  
true.  
  
Rage.  
  
You know it, you know it, you know it! She's found anoth--  
  
Check.  
  
The panel slip open abruptly, slamming into the wall with a  
resounding impact.  
  
"No." Their startled eyes met his, wide in shock, as their  
mouths made to make some excuse or explanation.  
  
"NO!" No longer thinking, he gave himself over.  
  
Rage.  
  
She is _mine_! Mine mine mine mine mine mine... Checksum  
invalid. Mine mine mine mine mine...  
  
***  
  
[White queen. The present.]  
  
It made no sense. The device -- with an easily obtained and  
stored lock of hair from a prior encounter with the boy -- should  
have eroded his will completely.  
  
It had taken months of planning, subtlety, focus... all that  
time spent after Ranma's return from China with Akane, and for  
naught? Was the boy's will that strong? Or had he somehow been  
helped?  
  
***  
  
[Clash. Battle begun anew. The present.]  
  
White: Advance pawns.  
  
Black: Huh? Me? Oh, I, um... gimme a minute... oh that's  
easy. Take one of them. One on the, er... left. Yeah.  
  
Dao: We wait.  
  
***  
  
[Black knight, White rook. The present.]  
  
Black:  
  
His son's life was nothing to laugh about, laughable as his  
own efforts at raising the boy were.  
  
But there was no reason to evade the issue now, knowing as  
he did his utter failure in so many ways... a way to unleash the  
parts of himself locked away for oh-so-long... the parts denied even  
to himself and his own mind. It was time to face his own failure,  
and protect his son.  
  
White:  
  
Ready for combat.  
  
... Combat initiated.  
  
Fool charges at me.  
I ready my weapon and --  
strike. He stops my blow!  
  
... Why am I fighting?  
  
Do not wake -- the battle continues.  
  
***  
  
[Clash. Heart of the storm. The present.]  
  
The boy did not blink, or even look as combat broke out  
about him, seemingly oblivious to the enhanced leotard clad woman as  
she was neatly rebuffed by a rotund blur in a frayed white gi.  
  
His eyes did not track the ribbon that missed his face by  
mere centimeters, as the fight rolled briefly about him, then out of  
his minds way.  
  
This was the key, in some sense. The battle, the combat...  
it had an answer beyond the simple perceptions that he had  
available. Think. The key...  
  
***  
  
[White knight, Black rook. The present.]  
  
White:  
  
He spared only a glance for his miniscule opponent. Was he  
not great? His foe could challenge, but never hope to win. He  
readied his steel, frowning grimly and raising his weapon in salute.  
  
The foe had no honor, and attacked before the salute was  
finished. He was prepared for that, and moved his blade in defense.  
Unity. One mind/body. He would win.  
  
Black:  
  
Pattern, pattern, pattern... where are you, little pattern?  
Where are your faults that I might exploit them!  
  
Hehehe... that makes me smile for some reason.  
  
Can't focus too hard -- lose the rhythm, don't ya know? The  
boy can do it. And his friends. But I'm the real hope. Yep yep yep.  
  
Hotcha! Trade partners?  
  
***  
  
[Clash. Eyes in the storm. The present.]  
  
What was he doing? What was _she_ doing?  
  
She waited nervously, knowing that whatever was going on, he  
knew what he was doing... and trusting her family. Her sister knew  
what she was doing, of a certain.  
  
So she waited, trying to ignore the constant combat spinning  
around them.  
  
***  
  
[White knight, Black knight. The present.]  
  
Black:  
  
A simple manner, such predictable tactics.  
  
I should have seen it sooner! I failed -- I made a  
mistake... the answer is _there_!  
  
White:  
  
I am great, for my opponent flees, facing a lesser instead.  
Pah, this one shall fall before me as the others -- mown wheat, and  
nothing more.  
  
An opening!  
  
***  
  
[Black rook, White rook. The present.]  
  
White:  
  
... Acquisition of target. Is this really necessary?  
  
Of course. We must win.  
  
... Then... you are making an error. It should be like so...  
  
Black:  
  
Yes, yes, yes. Much better.  
  
Should have done this in the first place. Yes.  
  
Much better, oh so much better. Why didn't I do it earlier?  
  
Oh.  
  
Damn.  
  
***  
  
[Te. The present.]  
  
He is close. I can feel it. Oh-so close. The answer is there  
-- the one that not even _I_ have found.  
  
Not Kasumi, not a mere dreamer... _I_, Kenshin.  
  
And now I can see how gloriously close you are to sorting  
this out and finding the answer.  
  
I have faith in you, Ranma.  
  
***  
  
[Shadows in the theater of the mind. The present.]  
  
She wasn't certain how it began, only how it ended.  
  
A savage, unskilled attack, one that ended in a staggeringly  
fierce shudder through the man.  
  
She pushed her lover aside, the startled expression and fast  
breathing worrying her anew -- and saw him.  
  
Standing in the doorway with wide, disbelieving eyes, and a  
single hand that tremblingly drew away from the exposed steel in the  
-- in the -- that drew away slowly.  
  
She rose to her feet, trying to explain, to say it was okay,  
it wasn't his fault, and to call him back, but no words came, and he  
turned to flee, leaving her alone with her lover and the-- and the--  
leaving her alone with her lover.  
  
***  
  
[A shadow on the field. The present.]  
  
No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no.... she  
had never meant to do it, no, she hadn't! She meant merely to help  
them, and then had... had... had... no...  
  
"Why?"  
  
Who said that? Her? Another? Was there another there?  
  
She needed help... help help help help...  
  
Who could help!?  
  
***  
  
[White queen. The present.]  
  
She bared her teeth, still not moving, but bowing under the  
weight of the tool, the horrid mental strain that using it at such  
strength brought down.  
  
And still there was nothing. At this much power he should be  
reduced to a mindless quivering whelp!  
  
Unless... was it not focused on him? Was it perhaps then...  
affecting all of them? Or was he simply that balanced?  
  
***  
  
[Between light and dark -- there is dao. The present.]  
  
I see it. There's a line, a razor's edge between the wailing  
abyss of yin and yang...  
  
Why did I never see it before? It's there. I'm there. I  
am...  
  
I finally understand... I am... I am...  
  
I am become... me!  
  
***  
  
[Clouds. The present.]  
  
Time to make a move.  
  
Fear.  
  
Time to make a move -- family is on the line.  
  
Fear.  
  
The master was right to reject you out of hand -- you are  
worthless.  
  
Fear.  
  
Time to move. Unless you want more to be afraid of, and less  
to be afraid for.  
  
...  
  
Then let's be on our way.  
  
Yes.  
  
***  
  
[Sundered circle. The present.]  
  
Her eyes widened -- not understanding what was going on, but  
_there_ was someone that she knew. Someone that did not know what  
she had done to protect her-- to protect her-- what she had done.  
  
Stumbling, she froze, watching the tableau before her.  
  
In the center of a maelstrom of violence, he stood, simply  
staring, seemingly unaffected by the movements of those nearby.  
Reaching as deep into herself as she could, she called for help to  
the one person she thought could help her.  
  
"Ranma!"  
  
***  
  
[White knight, Black night. The present.]  
  
Black:  
  
A cry for help!? I can't -- to much, trying to find a path  
-- no time.  
  
The boy, is he --  
  
White:  
  
My true foe! I will strike him down!  
  
An opening!  
  
***  
  
[Black rook, White rook. The present.]  
  
Black:  
  
No time, gotta help, gotta help, must move quickly, another  
stone on the table. Heehee... White and black, so what's the  
opposite of _that_ one?  
  
Oh, attack? Duck, hop, fun fun fun... no, work to do. Focus?  
  
Need to. No choice.  
  
White:  
  
... This is... Why am I doing this? The one I want is  
there...  
  
Error! Re-engage enemy.  
  
... No, this is my enemy.  
  
***  
  
[Temperance. The present.]  
  
Noise? What then... what is this?  
  
It's never been like this... why is it like this?  
  
Am I being selfish? I want him... he's at the center of  
everything, but I want him to be safe... whatever happens, that's  
all I want. Please be safe?  
  
***  
  
[Te. The present.]  
  
Confusion. Reaction. No time, movement and thought are one.  
  
Wait... risk... must control... must control...  
  
That was the failure? Must _not_ control?  
  
There! Now I see it!  
  
***  
  
[Dao. The present.]  
  
There was no clear path -- he could see that much. But any  
movement he made would put the results on his hands. Action vs.  
reaction.  
  
Reaction was preferable -- but even the act of choosing to  
not make a decision was... a choice.  
  
The best choice here, for him, for her... for all.  
  
***  
  
[Strike. The present.]  
  
Knight:  
  
His eyes widened, sudden pain and fear marking his  
expression as his opponent stepped back, lowering a bloodied blade  
and ignoring him there to charge his son.  
  
Failure.  
  
He fell to the ground, not able to muster the strength to  
move and knowing -- knowing -- too late... too late.  
  
Failure.  
  
Rook:  
  
He strained himself, utilizing the fullest extent of his  
ability, his training, his skill -- and fell into the trap.  
  
Success.  
  
He smiled grimly, seeing in the chaotic haze and muddled  
jumble of possibilities that even if he failed -- so had she.  
  
Success.  
  
***  
  
[Passing trial.]  
  
It's cold... I'm cold. So cold.  
  
And dark. I don't like the cold and the dark. What next? Can  
I say one last thing before it's over?  
  
I can?  
  
Thank you...  
  
Thank you.  
  
***  
  
[Impetus. The present.]  
  
That should not have happened. It was not meant to be --  
balance was needed here, and there was none.  
  
He was less aware of thinking about it, and more aware it  
being done.  
  
No complex kata, evasions and strikes -- simply being there  
and deciding.  
  
"You should not have done that."  
  
Her eyes were wide; her breath rasping. Was she still  
capable of fear?  
  
Decision.  
  
***  
  
[Clash. Children and their toys. The present.]  
  
She smiled grimly at her foe, realizing the path that she  
truly needed to walk -- only now these long hundred years and more  
later.  
  
Was it not she herself that had said she preferred the  
'playfighting' to the real thing?  
  
The boy before her was skilled, and had potential...  
  
And stood no chance before her.  
  
That was not the issue, rather it was... could she do it  
without killing?  
  
Did she have the control?  
  
No.  
  
She didn't.  
  
But it wasn't about control.  
  
***  
  
[Path to truest temperance. The present.]  
  
"There is another way."  
  
... Is there?  
  
No. There isn't. Resume function.  
  
"Yes... You just need to be calm... to think about things."  
  
... That... is it that simple? Then...  
  
No. Resume function.  
  
"Please?"  
  
... Yes... I... I see.  
  
System failure.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
... No. I should be sorry.  
  
***  
  
[Hand of Dao. The present.]  
  
Justice. An eye for an eye, they say...  
  
That would make the decision active.  
  
Mercy. She cannot grow if she is dead.  
  
That would make the decision reactive.  
  
Which one?  
  
A voice?  
  
"Ranma."  
  
Yes. That voice. The one that all of this is _for_.  
  
"Ranma... do... do the right thing."  
  
Both. Balance. The path in the center.  
  
How?  
  
***  
  
[Ancient yin. The present.]  
  
Her eyes were wide, seeing Kasumi effortlessly dispatch her  
pawn and then turn to face Ranma, her face impassive as the martial  
artist stared down at her, his aura unwavering and perfectly calm --  
a seething and boiling furnace of power kept only barely restrained  
as a dangerous light burned in his eyes.  
  
"The answer," he said slowly, still holding her to the  
ground with one hand, the other poised above her throat, "is  
obvious. I must do both. There must be both justice and mercy.  
Balance. You will punish yourself far worse then I shall. Because  
you may look upon me, or any of us, and see in us what you have  
failed to become, and then know that the blood on your hands is  
still unresolved." He shook his head once. "And it will stay on your  
hands forever."  
  
With that he stood, releasing her, and strode away.  
  
-------------------------------- 


	3. Epilogue

I am Become...  
  
Epilogue  
  
Disclaimer: As always the paints are the property of  
Takahashi Rumiko, Viz video, and this time, also Nobuhiro Watsuki,  
who owns Ruroni Kenshin. The easel is mine, but that is all.  
  
Notes: Please _please_ be certain to read the first part of  
this story, "I am Become..." before you read this fic. Otherwise, it  
will make little-to-no sense. You can find it here:  
http://members.tripod.com/lwf58/fan_fiction/durandall/index.html  
  
  
Ennui.  
  
She sighed, drumming her fingers against the table, and  
watching her sisters closely. Something had happened, though what it  
was, was beyond her...  
  
Ranma too had been touched, dancing through a kata  
effortlessly over the koi pond, gracefully avoiding the water, all  
the while wearing a... a... relaxed look.  
  
A peaceful expression.  
  
She shook her head, glancing at her younger sister, who was  
staring raptly at her pigtailed fiancee.  
  
Shaking her head again, she turned back, watching as Ranma  
landed from a series of tight flips, and swept a bow towards the  
house -- only to slip and fall in.  
  
Frowning, Nabiki turned away, ignoring his now higher-  
pitched peals of laughter at himself as he struggled out of the  
pond, echoed quickly by her sisters.  
  
"Hey, sis?"  
  
The older sister looked over, a bemused smile playing across  
her face as Ranma set about drying himself off before entering.  
"Yes, Nabiki?"  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, what happened? How did Ranma's father get hurt, and  
why is Dad acting so weird lately, and... where the heck did the old  
pervert go?"  
  
Kasumi turned somber instantly, regarding her sister  
frankly. "There was a fight. Saotome-no-Ojisan was injured, and...  
Grandfather Happosai moved along." Shaking her head, she rose,  
softness slowly seeping back into her eyes. "Now if you'll excuse  
me, I'm afraid I have to help a friend with something." She turned  
towards the pair of girls -- towards Ranma and Akane, speaking in  
low tones on the back porch. "Ranma? Akane? Would you care to join  
me?"  
  
A light in Ranma's eyes flickered briefly, one that she had  
not seen in the pigtailed martial artist's face before. A light that  
spoke of confidence, strength... of... tranquility. She blinked,  
thinking for a moment that it was mirrored in her sisters' eyes, but  
then vanished.  
  
Ranma nodded, pulling his shirt on while Akane whispered  
something that caused him to glower at her sharply, and stick his  
tongue out.  
  
She turned away, already knowing what happened next, and  
pushing the image from her mind. "So," she addressed her father,  
somehow not catching the lack of ensuing violence that she had  
expected, "Can you tell me what's going on?"  
  
The man shook his head, his eyes seeming distant. "I  
suppose, Nabiki, that they've grown up a bit." He amended a moment  
later, smiling at her, "I suppose we all did. Come, Nabiki, let's  
say hello to your mother."  
  
She sighed, hanging her head. He would be insistent, and  
fall apart, and weep and wail, and... "Sure, Daddy. Let's go." Maybe  
if they were to hurry, he would finish weeping before dinner.  
  
***  
  
He poked at the okonomiyaki in front of him, his schoolmate  
in the seat at his side, poking at his own.  
  
"So," the other said in a low tone, trying not to be heard,  
"I guess the rumors are true."  
  
He nodded, taking a bite of his okonomiyaki, and momentarily  
stunning himself with the flavor. "Good stuff," he managed,  
blinking, and reeling.  
  
The other grinned knowingly, and nodded. "Oh yeah... you  
think all three of them girls go at it together?"  
  
He hung his head, sighing. "Why must you always be such an  
idiot?" he hissed.  
  
Before the other could respond, a voice cut through the air,  
silencing both of them.  
  
"That, my friends, is not a question I think you'll find an  
answer for."  
  
He turned to look at the speaker, and the other with him,  
taking in for a moment the assembled trio. A pair of trios,  
actually. Ranma, in his girl form, Akane, and Kasumi in one. And in  
the other, Ukyou, Shampoo, and Konatsu.  
  
A part of him wanted to lurk, to decide which of them was  
cuter... and he had no doubt his companion would feel the same way.  
But something in Kasumi's voice had said, beyond any possible doubt,  
that he should leave. He grabbed at his food, muttering, "Yeah,  
yeah, you're right..."  
  
She nodded good in a good natured manner, eyes sparkling  
with mirth, and announced, "Now be off, and let us speak in  
private."  
  
He shrugged, already halfway to the street. "Sure thing.  
Girl talk is boring anyway."  
  
There was a snort, and one of the voices -- he wasn't sure  
which one -- responded, "We need to speak of things that matter to  
warriors and women." He glanced back over his shoulder, confused,  
but all six of them were too busy giggling, a giggle that built into  
a much deeper laughter.  
  
Rolling his eyes, he walked away again, mumbling, "Whichever  
one, I ain't gonna understand it."  
  
Another friend saw him and the other in the street, calling  
out, "Hey! Hiroshi, Daisuke! I got a copy of Final Oxymoron 12! Come  
on over and let's check it out."  
  
He grinned slowly. Maybe he wouldn't understand it, but  
then, _he_ at least, would never have to.  
  
***  
  
Scattered pebbles flung,  
Sweep wide across the pond, and  
Come home far apart.  
  
---------------------------  
Author's Notes:  
That haiku, I believe, summarized things quite well.  
  
Errata:  
  
I can only hope that this lives up to Durry's original  
ideal, but it's a horribly difficult thing for me to work on... It's  
really his more than it was ever mine. :\  
  
Right. This is the point where you all look at me like the  
moron I am, and say, "What on earth was that supposed to be!?"  
  
And I reply, "Well, you see..."  
  
So what _is_ it about?  
  
That's one I have to mull over.  
  
It's going to mean one thing for me -- that's certain. But  
for everyone who reads it, it will mean something else. There's  
different ways for it to be interpreted... I also hear a lot of  
complaints that it doesn't make a lot of sense. But then, it's not  
meant to. Rather, not at the most base level. If you want to look at  
it that way...  
  
It's not a story of, "Cologne uses another evil amazon  
seekrit (tm) and Kasumi reveals herself as the closet-super-power."  
Well. Actually, it is. But it's also more than that. It's a story  
about the search for self, and the best answer to a bad situation in  
a world of extremes.  
  
Though... I suppose if you wanted to you could take it as a  
story of just people doing things, where Cologne is the ultimate  
evil, etc... but if you look at it that way, you're missing a lot.  
Cologne's no more evil than Happosai is good, really.  
  
The biggest complaint that I get is that the action scenes  
in the second chapter were unclear.  
  
I have an answer to that issue.  
  
I know. I like it that way. If you're focusing on the  
combat, you're missing the point. It's there, but it's far from the  
central issue of this story. It's just a backdrop for what's  
happening internally.  
  
I'm dodging the question?  
  
Well -- imagine that, out of time...  
  
*sigh*  
  
Well, the fight may seem important, and I guess to some  
people, it might be... but the actual combat feels like a backdrop  
to _me_.  
  
I apologize, because this story is both a good and a bad  
thing. Because of this story, my friend, Durandall... is gone.  
  
Studying the yin and the yang within this story has allowed  
me to finally lay one of my own ghosts to rest, and I suppose that  
I'm as complete as someone with disassociative identity disorder  
_can_ be now, but... I'll miss Durry.  
  
So thanks to everyone who helped me along this road, as  
confusing as it is, and to Durandall, my friend... goodbye.  
  
Any questions or comments can be directed to me. 


End file.
